Sleight of Hand
by Rdr2
Summary: Before he was a Jedi, a ladies' man, and a silver-tongued scoundrel, Ran Tonno-Skeve was a pickpocket and gangster in the bowels of Coruscant. COMPLETE


_**Character Sketch, Ran Tonno-Skeve: "Sleight of Hand"**_

_Timeline:_ 8 years after the Battle of Yavin

The boy was good at what he did.

All he had to do was sidle up to the woman in the thick of the crowd, his small, thin frame like a wisp of air. His hand lightly grasped the buckle of her purse, unfastened it, lifted the flap ever so slightly. He pilfered her credstick without effort, recognizing the electronic device by feel alone. After so many similar thefts like this, he could even tell a credit-based credstick from a debit credstick by a mere brush of his hand.

His goal complete, the boy slipped into the crowd and out of it, ducking into an alley. Three boys, all older but none over their early teens, were waiting for him. The tallest one—and therefore the leader—smiled brightly with a mischievous bent upon seeing the small credstick. "You did it again, Ran!" he touted proudly. "You sure got 'running fingers,' just like you're called. Come on, let's see the goods." The tall one gestured to the fat youth next to him, who held a scavenged, heavily modified datapad in his thick hands. "Chub-Chub, slice this sucker and let's how much we can eat tonight."

The fat boy burbled thickly, "On it, Boss," taking the credstick and plugging it into his datapad.

The boy thief, Ran, looked up at the tall one and asked, "I did good today, right, Boss?" He was almost begging for praise.

Boss laughed and slapped him on the back, almost knocking the child over. "Of course, Ran. You're our best pickpocket. The best in the whole under-city, even! Ain't that right, Dog?" The tall one was speaking to the eldest, ugliest, and grimmest of the gang, a tattered-faced teen who bore the scars of a dozen street wars with pride and prestige. Dog was a gutter fighter who always seemed like he was about to explode.

"Yeah," Dog affirmed in his cool, distant tone. He cracked his knuckles idly, as he was wont to do. "You did good, Ran. Proud of you."

Ran beamed brightly, casually throwing his hands behind his head and stretching. "Aw, shucks guys, I'm not the best—yet, anyway. But just you wait, I'll steal us enough to get us away from this garbage compactor. Just like Chub'll slice us a way through and Dog'll beat down any who'll try and tough it up."

Boss smiled at Ran's enthusiasm and hopefulness. "And of course, I'll be leading," he stated matter-of-factly. "You trigger-happy blasters wouldn't be squat without some coordination. That's me right there."

"Of course," Ran agreed, "we wouldn't even be here if you hadn't found all of us." He turned eagerly to Chub-Chub. "So, how much did we get?"

The fat boy smiled greedily and announced, "Debit. Two thousand credits, fresh on account. It's a big haul tonight!"

There were cheers all around.

The four boys ate well that evening, stuffing themselves at a local buffet. Boss, who was always looking ahead, saved some of the money to purchase compressed rations from a dry goods store for the lean days that would surely follow their spree. This was how they lived—on the edge of poverty, but sustained by youth, friendship, and the expense of others. It was the only way they knew how to survive. Morality and law meant nothing to them. After all, it did nothing for them to adhere to such outmoded principles. All they could do was work against the system to keep themselves alive.

All they had was each other, a ragtag gang their only family. They were orphans trying to survive on the bottom rungs of a city world that simply did not care about four street toughs. Coruscant, jewel of the galaxy, heart of the New Republic, was like that—an uncaring eye that only saw the big picture, but not the little players within the film.

But Ran was content with the ways things were, uncaring as the greater universe might be. He had three good friends, brothers, who would watch over him, as he would watch over them. They fed each other, clothed each other, kept each other one step ahead of the police. Their efforts worked off of and were worked by the others. Like a great anthill, the whole was greater than sum of the parts. It was the way things were and he would not change them for all the credits on the planet.

They went to their hideout, an apartment unit on the top floor of a dilapidated building. They were not the only squatters in the complex, but they had taken the largest of the suites. Ran doffed his ratty coat and tossed it on a three-legged coffee table supported by a stack of newspapers and jumped onto the nearby couch. Dust flew into the air and he coughed wildly.

"We really need to clean this place up," Chub-Chub observed, setting his datapad aside and flopping onto a many-patched cushioned chair. Dust also sprang up.

Boss took off his cloak and hung it on a burned-out lamp. "Naw, we're usually out anyway. No point in cleaning up if we're just sleeping here every once in a while. Hey, Dog, toss these ration cakes into the kitchen." Boss tossed the bag of food to the street tough. "And kill off those cockroaches, too—we don't want them eating our stuff."

From his place on the couch, Ran asked, "Hey, Boss, tell me a story." It was an old game of theirs. Boss was the only one of the lot that could read, and he had read a lot. He knew many stories, from Old Republic lore to tales of more recent vintages. But he had a way of telling them that always imbedded every word into Ran's mind. He would add voices, gesticulations, and generally make an otherwise drab yarn a living, breathing entity.

Boss settled himself on the floor, crossing his legs comfortably. "All right, did you hear about the katarn that ate the golden apple? Oh, you have. Okay, how about the Rodian hunter who journeyed from one side of the galaxy to the other, looking for the fountain of life eternal? Oh, good, you haven't heard that one.

"Well, there was this great Rodian hunter whose friend died of a disease long, long ago. The hunter thought to himself, 'Must I die? Is there no hope that I may become the greatest hunter ever, only to die in obscurity?' And so he traveled the galaxy in search of a legendary fountain whose waters would grant everlasting life to whoever drank it. He met many monsters and people on his quest, and his adventures were the stuff of myths. But he did find the fountain and drank of it. Years passed, and he grew very, very old. But he did not die. He became so old that he couldn't move and his glory days of hunting passed him by. His blessing became a curse."

Enraptured by Boss' storytelling, Ran flipped onto his stomach to listen to the final words with great interest. "That's kind of sad, Boss," he noted with great awe and wide green eyes. "Is the Rodian still alive?"

Boss shrugged. "He could be. I don't know. I read this story in a magazine you stole some time ago. You know, you—and this goes for the rest of you, too!—you ought to learn to read. You're missing out on a lot of good stuff."

"Don't need to read," the green-eyed boy protested, "not when I got you to read my letters for me."

"I suppose. Anyway, there's your story. So now—"

There was a loud bang on the door and, a second later, that said door exploded into splinters. A group of tall men carrying blasters burst in and Ran recognized their uniforms as Coruscant World Police. "Hands up, all of you," one of them ordered, waving his rifle at Dog, who had returned from the kitchen with a knife in his hands.

"What the hell is going on?" Chub-Chub cried. "What is this?"

The police officer replied grimly, "An arrest. For stealing a Coruscant VIP's credit stick. We traced its locator to here, and now, you'll be coming to the precinct with us. Of course, you'll be given a lawyer and a chance to defend yourselves. At your age, you probably will get off easy."

Boss stood to his full height, letting his gutter-bred presence fill the room. "Like hell we are," he said stonily. "We ain't going nowhere." He motioned to Dog. "Go for it!" The street tough hurled his knife at the officers, missing widely but distracting them enough to him and Boss to tackle headlong into the blaster-wielding men. Over his shoulder, Boss yelled, "Ran, Chub! Get out of here!"

The two boys ran into the kitchen, breaking down the back door in their haste. It led to a rickety fire escape, which they scrambled down as fast as they could run. Moments later, blue stun bolts spewed from the doorway behind them. "Halt! Halt!" the officers ordered, stepping onto the stairwell.

"Chub!" Ran shouted, "Break the stairs!" The fat boy nodded once and braced his back against the side of the building while pushing at the fire escape's railing with his legs. The old, rusting metal creaked and groaned, as did the supports pinning it to the building. Those supports broke free and the whole structure swayed dangerously. The officers cursed, trying to regain their balance; one of them fell to the garbage-laden ground below.

"Ran! Help!" Chub-Chub cried as he, too, fell over the side. Ran made a grab of his thick hand and missed.

But the boy could not spare the time to mourn. Blue streaks of energy splashed by his head and he took off running down the precarious stairwell. He almost fell over three times, but he was a quick child and maintained his footing. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he burst into a sprint into the ghettoes of Coruscant. He allowed himself to hope that he could escape.

The burn of a stun bolt smashing into his back, blowing the wind from his lungs, ended that hope.

* * *

There were walls all around him, caging him in, binding him, muffling, suffocating. They were like hands wrapped around his neck while he was blindfolded, so blind and helpless was he in the darkness of the cell. But he did not cry nor did he shiver. He kept himself under control, buried his fear under layers upon layers of frustration, drawing upon his feelings of injustice to warm him against the chill.

But there would be no warmth. The only warmth he ever felt was around his gang, his family. Boss, so sure and confident, was gone. So was Dog, who could never be beaten. Chub-Chub, innocent and harmless, fell from the stairs; he was probably killed or arrested. The boy did not know. All he knew were the walls. These thoughts swirled in his head like a foul drug. He stalwartly resisted their noxious pull, but he ultimately capitulated. He hugged his legs close and lowered his head against his knees. Hot tears cut burning rivers on his cheeks.

Then the door to his cell opened. Yellow, artificial light spilled into his dark domain, outlining three figures, one of them a New Republic security officer. The boy winced.

"There's some Jedi here, kid," said the silhouette of the officer. "They want to talk to you." The officer left, leaving the two other figures in the doorway.

"Who're you?" the boy snarled, shrinking away from them. He did not trust anyone tied with the law—not even Jedi. Especially not after what just happened. Officers, police, or Jedi—they were all the same to him. They were people who took away his only family. Fear, pure and cold, turned into bitter anger. His snarls grew more heated, more feral.

One of the figures, short and about his height, stepped into the cell so that he could see her clearly. She was about his age, a Twi'lek girl with blue skin and eyes. She wore an oversized leather headband with a metal piece on her forehead. "Hello," the girl greeted shyly. "My name's Ascera, Ascera Dax. What's your name?"

The boy blinked. He did not expect this sort of a conversation, especially from a Jedi. He had expected interrogation, recrimination, anything but a casual introduction as if he were out on the town with a friendly stranger. He did not even know that they _had_ Jedi his age. The anger dissipated like mist, replaced by curiosity, and fueled into words. Despite his reservations, he replied warily, "I'm…I'm Ran."

The girl blinked, confused. "Don't you have a last name?"

"N-no."

"Ran's a funny name. Why're you called Ran?"

Ran crinkled his nose. The girl's questions sounded condescending, which did not sit well with him. "Because I run with gangs," he explained tartly. "They call me Ran because I run with gangs." He gave her a piercing look. "Why do they call you Ascera? It sounds like some kind of nasal spray." The mortified, insulted look on the Twi'lek's face sent Ran into bellows of laughter.

"That's enough," said a kindly adult voice. Ran ceased laughing, suddenly aware of the tall female Zabrak—the other figure—standing near him. Here was a real Jedi, all power and control. Furthermore, this Jedi was an adult. Finally, this Jedi was a woman. All three categories—Jedi, adult, woman—sounded alarms in Ran's head, all calling attention to the Zabrak's authority. He would have fled the woman's presence, but something about her, something soothing and maternal, calmed him. He did not move.

The woman bowed. "I am Zell Oomfra, a Jedi Knight. You've already met my apprentice, Miss Ascera Dax." The Twi'lek girl gave Ran an imperious look at being named. But he kept his attention on the Zabrak. "Ran," Zell said gently, "do you know about the Jedi?"

He nodded uneasily. He was afraid.

"Do you know that we use the Force? The energy field of life?"

Again, he nodded.

"Good, good." She knelt down by him, so that she could look at him in the eyes. "Ran, you have the Force in you. It isn't very strong, but it is very bright. That means you have a future ahead of you. Do you like living in places like this cell?"

"No," he responded, "I like living free. Like with my gang."

"But you are chained by hunger, by the need for money. You need to steal," the woman observed. Ran did not dispute that and wondered why a wise Jedi Knight would be talking about such obvious things. She continued, "The Force can set you free. I know people who can teach you, if you'd like."

Ran blinked; he did not expect this at all. "You mean I can become a Jedi?"

"If you want to. It is a difficult life, but I assure you, you will be free of all your worries."

"But the Jedi serve people," the boy protested, "and I don't want to serve people. I want to be free."

"Perhaps by serving people you will find freedom. You are confused by this concept; I see that and I understand your puzzlement. Ran, do you like to help people? Like your friends in the gang?"

"Of course. They're my family."

"Does it make you feel good? Like you're free?"

"Kind of. I guess."

"A Jedi is like that. A Jedi helps people because it makes them feel good. Because it makes them free."

Ran pondered that concept, turning it in mind, examining it and penetrating it with his mind's eye. He did not understand it, not yet. But there was something about it that intrigued him. When he thought about it, it felt…like he was meant to do it. There had always been something unfulfilling about stealing. It was something he just had to _do_ because it needed to be _done_. He never did it because he _wanted_ to. But the thought of becoming a Jedi, becoming a servant of the people…becoming free….

"You said it would be difficult to be a Jedi."

"I did."

"It's difficult being a thief." Ran spoke the words with such bitterness that the Zabrak blinked in surprise. But he did not notice. He thought of the many people he stole from, the many near-arrests by the police. The street wars, the gutter fights. He loved his gang, loved Boss and Dog and Chub-Chub, but that was because they looked out for each other. No one else did. Gangs were set against gangs. That was the way of the streets. But the Jedi…they were one large gang, one family.

"It's difficult being a thief," Ran said again in a voice that would carry the weight of this moment the rest of his life, "so I'll be a Jedi instead."


End file.
